


Gift

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: SPN AU Bingo Fills [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: Square Filled: Graphic Designer!Sam





	Gift

“No, no, no, no, no- yes!” **  
**

You snicker at the sound of your boyfriend’s yelling as you enter the apartment, laden with groceries. “Sam, I’m home!” you call, lifting the bags up onto the counter.

You hear him before you see him- he’s a big dude and when he bounds down the hallway, he can probably be heard a mile away. He sweeps you up in his arms just as you’ve let go to the grocery bags and spins you around the kitchen. You throw your arms around his neck, holding on tight as uncontrollable giggled overcome you.

“Happy to see me?” you tease when he sets you back on your feet.

“Yes,” he says, planting a kiss on your lips. “And my computer didn’t delete the project I was working on.”

“Oh, thank God,” you say, understanding now why he’s in such a good mood. You can’t even imagine how it must feel to spend hours working on designing something for a client only to discover it hadn’t been saved, though you can guess it must be pretty awful, which means the relief when it has been saved must be the best feeling. You cup his face. “I’m so happy for you, babe. Did you save before leaving the room?”

“Shit, no!”

You laugh to yourself as he bolts back down the hall to his office. He returns a few minutes later, finding you putting cans of soup in the cupboard.

“We’re all good,” he assures you, taking boxes of cereal from a bag and putting them in their own cupboard. “I sent the watermarked version to the client, so hopefully they get back to me tonight or tomorrow morning and I can finish this project before the weekend.”

“Good.” you nod, smacking his ass playfully as you pass by to get more cans from the bag on the counter. “I would rather you not have to work while our families are here.”

“I would prefer that as well,” he agrees, smacking your ass in return.

* * *

You could kiss the client when they email Sam back about thirty minutes after the two of you finish cleaning up dinner. Last year Sam ended up having work to do while your families were visiting for Christmas and it kind of- read: really- sucked. You’re so excited to be able to have everyone there this year.

Sam sends the final project to the client just as you’re putting your shoes on to go pick your parents up from the airport. Your apartment doesn’t have spare bedrooms, especially since the second bedroom was converted into an office, so everyone will be staying at the hotel that is conveniently located across the street.

“Done!” Sam shouts, joining you in the kitchen. “Can I still come with you?”

“Of course,” you chuckle, lacing up your boots. “Get your shoes.”

* * *

It’s been way too long since Y/N’s seen her parents and they agree. Her dad sweeps her into a bear hug, practically squeezing the life out of her before she’s able to wriggle free and find shelter in her mom’s much gentler embrace. Sam watches with an amused grin before moving in to shake hers dad’s hand and accept his own hug from her mom. His own parents won’t be arriving until tomorrow morning, thanks to his dad’s work, but he’s glad Y/N gets to spend more time with her parents. They aren’t able to visit as often as his are.

Sam takes Y/N’s mom’s bag, slinging it over his shoulder and trails a little behind, giving her some free space to get caught up with her parents. She has her arm around her dad’s waist and the sight makes Sam smile.

“I’m thinking rosemary chicken and potatoes for dinner,” she says, twisting around in the passenger seat to talk to her parents after everything’s been loaded into the car.

“That sounds wonderful,” her mother agrees. “We’ll get checked in at the hotel, and then come join you guys?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Once they’re settled at the hotel, Y/N’s parents join them at their apartment. Her mom settles in to help Y/N in the kitchen and Sam offers her father a beer. He manages to guide the older man out onto their small balcony, which has a nice view of a street- a view that actually continues all the way to where the road disappears into the distant mountains. Sam likes it, especially this time of night when the sun is just dipping below the peaks.

“Stunning,” Y/N’s father says leaning against the railing.

“Y/N really likes this view,” Sam tells him.

“Yeah, it’s her style.”

“Speaking of Y/N…” Sam begins hesitantly “there’s something I want to ask you about.”

* * *

You can see Dad and Sam on the balcony, backs to the apartment and deeply engrossed in their conversation. You like knowing they get along so well. You know Sam was really nervous about meeting your parents at first- you felt the same about meeting his, so you can’t blame him. The two men are quite the pair, though, and you’re not worried.

Cooking with your mom has always been a favorite past time of yours. You spent many evenings in the kitchen in your parents’ home, listening patiently while your mom walked you through all of her family recipes. The one you’re working on tonight isn’t a family one, though, which means it’s your turn to lead and you like that. It’s a nice change.

* * *

Sam’s parents arrive the next morning and the six of you spend the next few days enjoying some much needed family time. By the time they all leave, though,you’re more than looking forward to some alone time with your boyfriend. Even with them staying across the street, it felt like there was always someone in the apartment.

“Ready for a quiet Christmas?” Sam asks once the two of you are cuddled on the couch, both sets of parents safely aboard their respective planes.

“Definitely.”

After one year of traveling to see family on Christmas, you and Sam decided you would much rather spend Christmas day at home. You do your usual Christmas Eve pajama exchange- a tradition you both brought from your childhoods- and usually stay up a little late wrapping final gifts and putting together Mary Winchester’s breakfast casserole- layers of hash browns, bacon, sausage, and cheese with egg poured over the top, cooked low and slow all night in a crockpot. You get to wake up on Christmas morning to a ready-to-eat breakfast. You dig into the stockings you put together for each other, then eat breakfast and usually have a lazy morning before finally getting around to actually opening presents. Neither of you make a lot of money, so there’s definitely a present budget, but both of you are good at making the money go far.

It’s almost noon by the time all the presents are open. There’s a bag of wrapping paper by the door, waiting to go down to the recycling bin whenever either of you move from your spot on the couch. Sam’s broad chest is a good pillow, so you’re probably not going anywhere any time soon. That’s okay.

“I have one more gift for you,” Sam says softly, shifting around until you sit up and he can reach over to dig a small black box out of the end table drawer. Your heart immediately begins beating faster and you suddenly have a feeling you know exactly what Sam was talking about with your father the other day.

Sam slides off the couch and onto one knee, holding the box up in front of him. He pops it open, revealing a simple silver band made of two spun together around a few tiny diamonds with a larger diamond in the center.

“Sam,” you gasp, hands flying up to cover your mouth.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, earnestly. “You’re the love of my life. You make me a better person and I never want to spend a day without waking up with you in my arms. Will you marry me?”

You let out a slightly embarrassing squeal and throw yourself into his arms, almost knocking him on his ass.

“Yes,” you manage before kissing him firmly. “Yes, Sam, yes.”


End file.
